Strings Attached
by Mrs Eyre
Summary: OK, I lied - there are only 9 chapters, not 10. Washington Square, a dog and a resolution.
1. Default Chapter

This is set after "Reconcilable Differences" but before the "Epilogue" to that. If you haven't read RD you might want to scan it; there are some original characters in this who first appear there.  
  
The usual disclaimers apply. Reviews and constructive criticism welcome - please don't waste my time or yours with "Luka sucks, make it a Carbyyyyyy". No, really, please.  
  
Strings Attached  
  
"It's not a big deal"  
  
"Sure it is. You won't tell me where we're going. It's a big deal."  
  
"It's not. It's just a surprise."  
  
"I don't like surprises."  
  
"Everyone likes surprises."  
  
"Not me."  
  
"It just has to be the right surprise."  
  
"Not me."  
  
"It's dinner, that's all. We haven't been out to eat in weeks."  
  
"It's Croatian, isn't it?" No answer. "Isn't it? It is. I knew it."  
  
"Look, if there's nothing on the menu you like I'll ask them to order out for you. It will be humiliating, but for you -"  
  
"What do you mean if? I've never found anything I liked yet!"  
  
"Well I miss it and I swear to God if I see another pizza I'll scream."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Come on, you'd live on it if you could."  
  
"You never said."  
  
"I'm saying now."  
  
"You're really pissed about the pizza?" She'd stopped walking and he turned to look at her.  
  
"Pissed? No. Bored? Yes"  
  
"I like pasta."  
  
"I was coming to that."  
  
"You were?"  
  
"Oh yes." But he was smiling now. She looked past him down the street through the faint November mist, considering.  
  
"OK. OK, you may have a point about the pizza. Maybe."  
  
"You could try the fish."  
  
"They leave the heads on, Luka."  
  
"I'll tell them to take the head off."  
  
"But I'd still know it had been there."  
  
"Abby - "  
  
"Kidding, I'm kidding, OK? I'll try the fish."  
  
It didn't look promising. The window was completely obliterated by condensation and the noise spilled out into the street even before Luka opened the door. But Abby was cold and the rush of warm air was enticing and she followed him in, reaching a hand out to hold onto his coat. These places always made her feel out of place, with their noise, their smoke, the almost indecently warm welcome they offered, want it or not. She felt Luka relax into the place like a warm bath. The hum of spoken Croatian was oddly exotic, strangely evocative like half remembered music or a long forgotten scent and she felt herself blush a little when she realised that the place she heard this language most often was in bed. "You made a reservation?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"It's very busy."  
  
"It always is. That's why I made the reservation."  
  
"They messed up. We don't have a table."  
  
"We do."  
  
"No, look, they're all full. We should go somewhere else."  
  
"We have a table." The waiter who approached them greeted Luka with a brilliant smile; Abby wanted to punch him, but followed him and Luka toward the very back of the room.  
  
"There's no table, Luka. I don't want to share."  
  
The table to which the waiter had lead them seemed to have been set for six and three other people were already there. A man and his companion, and, with his back to them another, older man, lounging messily, one arm stretched along the chair next to him, a cigarette slotted between his fingers. Abby experienced a sudden, overwhelming desire to turn and run.  
  
The younger man saw them, stood, jarring the table and spilling water onto the cloth. The woman spoke sharply to him and he flushed. Abby looked at this man with dawning realisation. Tall, dark, a little heavily set, but eerily familiar in the way his nervous smile lit up his face for a second. Luka had made his way to the woman who stood now and embraced him, kissing his face, smiling up at him. The man continued to look steadily at Abby, his eyes searching her face.  
  
"Abby." Luka held out his hand. She didn't take it. "This is Tatijana, my sister in law."  
  
Oh, no kidding, you sonofabitch she thought. Luka grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. The woman, slight, blonde, pretty and smelling of talcum powder, hugged her and smiled right into her eyes.  
  
"I'm so happy to meet you."  
  
"And Damir." The hand extended to her was cool and dry, his grasp firm, long fingers so very, very familiar. He bowed slightly over her hand.  
  
"A great pleasure." But his tone was guarded and his eyes as cool as his handclasp. Luka moved very close to her and turned her around so that he stood behind her, hands resting on her shoulders. She could feel him breathing a little too fast.  
  
"Sonofabitch" she said sottovoce. The elderly man looked at her from something like Luka's height with eyes so like Luka's that for a moment she was confused. He put out his cigarette and held her gaze. He didn't hug her; did not offer his hand. Luka was speaking.  
  
"And this is -"  
  
"Ivica," the man finished, his voice full of smoke; "I am Ivica. And you must sit by me." 


	2. Chapter 2

PART 2  
  
Food was ordered, eaten, conversation conducted. Tatijana took it upon herself to draw Abby out of herself, prodding gently about her work, her likes, her dislikes, telling her about the protests of the three children at being left behind in the care of a neighbour.  
  
"Anna so wanted to meet you. She's terribly in love with her uncle."  
  
Abby fought back the impulse to say that at that precise moment Anna would be more than welcome to him. By the time she excused herself to go to the ladies room she felt as though she were in the middle of an out of body experience, her breath threatening to kill her. She didn't dare look in the mirror, knowing that the anger and bitterness she would read there would be all too horribly familiar.  
  
Bastard, you bastard, sonofabitch goddammed fucking bastard, you did this to me, how could you do this to me?  
  
It wasn't their fault she reminded herself, they didn't know that she'd been thrown into this all unawares. But God, the black, burning hatred she felt for Luka extended to them too. What were they saying in her absence? They were sure to be surprised that she wasn't prettier, more vivacious, taken aback at her ordinariness, her unsuitability for their darling. She stopped herself there, a little ashamed. She didn't know anything of the sort. She thought it herself often enough; it didn't mean they did. Tatijana had been warm, drawing her into the conversation; Damir had been polite but awkward, ploughing stolidly through his dinner. Ivica had hardly spoken to her for all that he had insisted that she sit at his side, but she had caught his amused glances from her to Luka and back again. Luka. Bastard. Little matter that his eyes spoke of his guilt, his regret, were filled with a plea for forgiveness. Sonofabitch. She had to go back, had to face them, only her anger sustaining her now.  
  
Deep breath, Abby. You're on  
  
The table had been cleared and coffee ordered. Ivica, Damir and Luka all rose as she returned to the table, as they had when she left it, sitting again only when Ivica had pushed her chair in for her. He poured coffee for her, and she watched as the others poured Loza, following up the glass after glass of wine they had downed with dinner. Ivica turned his chair toward her.  
  
Here we go.  
  
"So, you don't drink."  
  
"Can't drink. Not sensibly."  
  
Ivica nodded, sagely. "It's good that you know. This doesn't bother you?" He held up his glass.  
  
"Not at all."  
  
"But you'll have a cigarette with your coffee?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"They're American. I love my country but - the cigarettes are not so good." He held out the pack first to her and then to Luka who shook his head and Abby was gratified to see him flush a little. Ivica smiled and shook his head.  
  
"Schizo"  
  
"What?"  
  
"If we were in Croatia he would take one."  
  
"So not so much schizo as hypocrite then."  
  
Ivica frowned a little. "How harsh. Are you only one person, then?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Ivica shrugged. "We're all more than one person. I never smoked in front of my grandmother. Don't look at Luka, look at me, let him talk to them." Luka was indeed talking to his brother and sister in law. She had no idea what about because their conversation was conducted in Croatian. Ignorant bastard.  
  
"He thinks I shouldn't smoke."  
  
"You shouldn't" he said, blowing smoke over her head.  
  
"That's kinda my decision, don't you think?"  
  
"Absolutely. And then, we all need our little acts of defiance."  
  
"I'm not defying anyone."  
  
"Medical science, common sense, your parents ... Luka."  
  
"Not my parents." Ivica's eyes gleamed.  
  
"Luka told me about your mother." Abby was aware of Luka's uneasy glance.  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"Oh, not much, only that she has been ill. I knew woman with same illness once. She was married to a piano teacher, frined of my wife."  
  
"How interesting."  
  
"Her husband laughed about it. He laughed a lot."  
  
"Laughed?"  
  
"Yes, you know - instead of crying. Which would have been his only other choice. Wouldn't it?"  
  
"Would you pour me some water, please?"  
  
"But of course. So, Chicago. Good place to be? For my boy?"  
  
"As good as any."  
  
"Not really," Ivica said, his voice suddenly quiet. "Some places are not so good; not good at all. Now me, I can live anywhere, countryside, city, by the sea. Luka grew up in countryside, but look at him now, city boy." Abby looked at Ivica askance. Of all the people she'd ever known Luka was the one who most often seemed ill at ease in the city, the noise and press of people seeming often to trouble him. "American cities are different from home" Ivica continued. "Zagreb, Dubrovnik, Split." He paused. "Vukovar. Vukovar isn't like anywhere you've ever seen, not now. But the others, they're ... softer, stones are kinder, noise is more ... human. This seems a very hard place."  
  
"You just got here."  
  
"Then best person to judge. My own city is fresh in my mind."  
  
"People get used to it."  
  
"Oh, yes, I'm sure people can get used to anything. I don't know if that means they should."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"A friend of mine told me a joke once, I don't remember it, he was very bad at telling jokes, but right at the end the, er, the ..."  
  
"Punchline"  
  
"Punchline, yes, thankyou, the punchline is that a man says to his friend that he had a really great horse; and he'd just got it used to living on nothing but fresh air - and then the damned thing died. People get used to being alone, being lonely, fearful, hopeless, sleeping alone. They get used to living on nothing. And then they die. Luka, he got used to all those things, so used to them that I didn't recognise him for a time. I thought he'd die. But he didn't, because now ... now he has you. And all is well."  
  
Abby felt herself soften a little then and glanced at Luka; caught him looking anxiously back at her. God, he was beautiful. She felt a little stab of desire worry her stomach; supressed it, looked back at Ivica who was watching her carefully. "Is it?" he asked, softly.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"And yet you are angry with him tonight."  
  
"I really don't think that -"  
  
"I have been impertinent. I worry. He's my son and I worry. You will forgive me." It wasn't a question.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------- 


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three  
  
"It's very late and you boys are on the verge of drinking too much." Tatijana's smile at Abby was a little conspiratorial. "Better to break up the arguments before they start I think."  
  
Not mine, sister, you're not depriving me of mine Abby thought, willing Luka to look at her. He didn't but his resignation to what was to come was written in every line of his body. In fact he'd drunk very little, pleading work the next day, but Abby suspected he felt the need to keep his wits about him for the expected onslaught. Smart move..  
  
"Besides," Tatijana went on, "Abby and Luka have work tomorrow."  
  
"Well, not me" Abby said recklessly, only then realising what she'd done. Luka closed his eyes and murmured something under his breath.  
  
"You're free tomorrow?" Ivica said.  
  
"Well - "  
  
"But that's perfect! Here we are, getting along so well and we have to leave because Luka is working. It's not fair - but now we can spend time together. You can show me what this great city has to offer."  
  
"Tata." It was Damir who had spoken. Ivica answered in Croatian and Damir said no more.  
  
"Tatijana will want to go shopping and Damir will have to go with her. We don't need a bankrupt in the family, eh? The Art Institute - I would like to see that. And the Museum of Contemporary Art. But which would you prefer?"  
  
I'd prefer you to head straight back to the airport actually  
  
"No, you choose. I don't know much about Contemporary Art," Abby said, speaking the words as though they had capital letters. "but perhaps you could explain it to me." Her smile was sweet. Ivica met her gaze.  
  
"Institute. There are some Edward Hoppers there. Very dark, very - " he faltered, threw a word at Luka who fed back "Alienated"  
  
"Yes - alienated. Very American. Do you like Hopper?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I knew it. So it's settled. I meet you there tomorrow at 10 O'clock. And I buy lunch. Now, I need to pee." Abby saw Luka close his eyes, mortified. "Luka - go and get us a cab." Ivica left the table and Damir scrambled after him, apparently unwilling to be the sole male presence remaining. Luka stood, hesitated.  
  
"Abby - "  
  
"Cab, Luka." she said with a brittle smile.  
  
Left alone with Abby Tatijana leaned across the table and took her hand. "Luka told us you were pretty."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yes. He's right. You have such a pretty smile." Abby didn't answer; lit a cigarette. "Don't let the old man frighten you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He was the same with me. I was terrified. But he can't keep it up. He loves easily."  
  
The words came slowly from Abby. "And ... Danijela?"  
  
"Oh, Dani was different. She was the daughter of an old friend of Ivica's, an illustrator. He'd been living in France and came back when Dani was - what - about 16 I think. She had no trouble from Ivica."  
  
"Great."  
  
"Abby. No-one is comparing you."  
  
"Of course they are."  
  
"No - she's gone, it was a long time ago. Another life, another world. Don't think it."  
  
"Kinda hard not to."  
  
"Luka doesn't think it." She couldn't argue with that; she'd never felt Danijela's presence in their lives, in their bed.  
  
"He didn't tell me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"About tonight. Can you believe that?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Kovac men." Tatijana shrugged. "I've seen too much of them to be surprised by anything they do. I mean, Ivica ... look, he's more afraid than you are."  
  
"Of me?"  
  
"No. For Luka. Ivica has such high hopes for you. We all do."  
  
No pressure then  
  
"Try to -" Tatijana stopped short as Ivica and Damir returned to the table and a second later Luka also returned to say that their cab was waiting. He helped Tatijana on with her coat and his father did the same for Abby. As he settled the coat on her shoulders he lifted her hair up and away, exposing her neck.  
  
"What are -"  
  
"Just checking."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"Scorch marks". Luka said something sharply to him in Croatian and the old man shook his head, laughing. Taking her by the shoulders he turned her around and caught her in an immense hug.  
  
"Unil tomorrow" he said and kissed her, bent over her hand for a moment and shooed Tatijana and Luka ahead of him. Damir motioned for Abby to follow but then caught her arm and detained her.  
  
"Look, Miss Lockhart -"  
  
"Abby."  
  
"Abby. Sit up to him."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That's wrong isn't it? Stand, I mean stand up to him. He can be a ... a monster, he can be a monster for Luka. He's a father, that's all, you understand? Yes? He will see that Luka has nothing to fear from you," Don't bet on it "just let him see that. And then, if he goes too far ..."  
  
"What?" Damir shrugged.  
  
"Slap his face. It works every time for Tatijana." And then, astonishingly, he winked, and in that moment he was so like Luka that she laughed aloud.  
  
"Luka is right." he said.  
  
"About?"  
  
"You have the prettiest smile." 


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four  
  
Any softening of her feelings toward Luka evaporated rapidly as they walked. They didn't speak until sitting waiting for the train.  
  
"Abby - "  
  
"Don't talk to me. Do not."  
  
Silence.  
  
"I can't believe you did this. I can't believe it."  
  
"Me neither."  
  
"Shut up. Just shut the hell up. And stay shut up."  
  
"We have to talk about this."  
  
"Not here, not now."  
  
"But tonight."  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"I'm working tomorrow."  
  
"Yes, you are, and I, who could really use talking to Angela or going to a meeting, am playing tour guide to your arrogant, overbearing father."  
  
"I'll call him."  
  
"You will not."  
  
"You could call Angela tomorrow, early."  
  
"She's my sponsor, Luka, not my personal therapist. She has a life, a job to go to." A pause.  
  
"Overbearing?" She blocked out the obvious concern in his voice.  
  
"I don't want to talk about it. About him."  
  
"About us then."  
  
"When did you turn into Mr Talkative?". Luka winced and she saw it. That wasn't fair. In the three months since they'd been reconciled he'd gone to great lengths to be open with her; she knew that he found it every bit as hard as she did. She should apologise. She didn't.  
  
He'd followed her injunction and not spoken a word on the ride home. As she opened her door he tried again.  
  
"Abby - "  
  
"You'd better come in. Don't even think about staying."  
  
Abby threw her things onto the couch and followed them down heavily. Luka paced uneasily.  
  
"Oh, sit down, Luka, you're making the place look untidy."  
  
He took a seat by the fire and risked looking at her. She avoided his gaze.  
  
"Abby, I know you're angry - "  
  
"Gee, ya think? What the fuck were you thinking, Luka?"  
  
"I wasn't thinking."  
  
"How long have you been planning this, huh? How long?"  
  
"I didn't plan it. My father called me two days ago."  
  
"Two days? Two days?"  
  
"I panicked. I just panicked."  
  
"I know how you feel."  
  
"No, you don't, you really don't. When I thought of telling you I just . . . I just imagined what you'd do, what you'd feel."  
  
"You know what? I really don't need you to imagine that stuff for me."  
  
"I know. I was wrong. But think, what would you have done?"  
  
"I'd have been scared shitless."  
  
"Yes, of course. And you'd have spent two days worrying yourself to death."  
  
"I am not a child! What is it you think my recovery is all about? I'll tell you what it's about" she continued as he opened his mouth to answer "It's about me learning to deal with myself and with my feelings. So if I'm scared I have to be scared and I have to deal with it. Me, Luka, me, you don't get to decide what's good for me. Your job, if you still have it after tonight, is to to support me in that. Do you get that?"  
  
"Yes. I get it. I was wrong. I know that. And I'm sorry."  
  
"Easiest word in the world to say once you're busted."  
  
"No, it isn't, not when you mean it. I mean it. I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't done it. I didn't know what else to do."  
  
"Bull. Shit. You knew exactly what to do and you decided not to do it."  
  
She was right of course. Luka thought back to the blind terror he'd felt on putting down the 'phone after his father's call. Arriving Friday,the three of them, hotel booked, nice surprise, eh? Oh, yeah, great surprise No time to rearrange his shifts, no time to tell Abby and to deal with the forest fire of panic he knew would overtake them. So he did nothing, let it wash over him. He'd even been able to convince himself that tonight he was just taking Abby out to dinner.  
  
"I screwed up, Abby. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."  
  
"Keep thinking, because sorry just isn't cutting it right now."  
  
"Then perhaps I'd better go."  
  
"Perhaps you better had."  
  
She followed him to the door and began to shut it it behind him. He held out a hand to stop it.  
  
"You know, if I get hit by a car on the way home you're going to feel terrible about leaving things like this." She waited a moment, considering and then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.  
  
"Stay out of the way of cars. If anyone's going to kill you it's going to be me."  
  
But she didn't smile as she shut the door. 


	5. Part 5

Part Five  
  
"You want to go get some air?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're flagging". Carter had watched with interest as Luka dragged a hand over tired eyes for the twentieth time that morning.  
  
"Flagging. Yes. OK".  
  
"Losing sleep?" Luka didn't answer as he followed Carter out into the ambulance bay and, shivering a little in the November chill, lowered himself wearily onto the bench. "Trouble in Paradise?" Luka wasn't making this easy.  
  
"It's my family."  
  
Carter's concern was piqued. "Somebody sick?"  
  
"No. They're here. Visiting."  
  
"They are? Abby never said anything."  
  
"She didn't know."  
  
"What?"  
  
Luka glanced up at him then but said nothing.  
  
"Holy crap - you didn't tell her."  
  
"No."  
  
"You're kidding me."  
  
"No."  
  
"And she's . . . not pleased."  
  
"No."  
  
"What are you, a yes man on vacation?" Luka shot him a look of withering contempt. "So let me guess, she's mad as hell."  
  
"I don't think that even begins to describe it."  
  
"Holy crap."  
  
"You said that already."  
  
"I know, Luka, but . . . holy crap."  
  
"Would you stop with that?"  
  
"Why didn't you tell her?"  
  
"You've not met my father, have you."  
  
"Not to my recollection, no."  
  
"Oh, you'd remember. And you'd understand."  
  
"You scared of him?" Carter was highly amused at this concept and it showed.  
  
"No. But he can be ..."  
  
"Difficult? Prickly? Abrupt?"  
  
"All of the above."  
  
"I see."  
  
"But he's a good man, you know, he never means to ... wound."  
  
"Abby met him yet?"  
  
"Last night at dinner."  
  
"And ..."  
  
"And I slept alone last night. She would have liked to kill me. I think the words she used were arrogant and overbearing."  
  
"You or him?"  
  
"It's not funny."  
  
"No. Except it sort of ... is - from where I'm standing."  
  
"Right now I'd swap places with you."  
  
"No thanks. Where is she now?" Luka shifted uncomfortably on the bench.  
  
"At the Art Institute. They have some fine Hoppers."  
  
"Abby likes Hopper?"  
  
"My father does."  
  
"Oh, man."  
  
"As you say." He let out a sigh and lowered his head to his hands. "This is a major fuck up, Carter".  
  
"Come on. She's mad now, but she'll come round. I mean, she had to meet him some time, right?" Luka shook his head silently. Carter forged on. "This time tomorrow - "  
  
"This time tomorrow she may be asking for her key back."  
  
"You're talking crazy now. Why would she let this derail things after everything else?"  
  
"I didn't talk to her. It matters. I know that, she knows that."  
  
"Don't do this. This can't be the first time you've quarrelled."  
  
"First time she threw me out at the end of the evening."  
  
Carter sat beside him. "You worried? I mean, beyond her wanting you dead - you're really worried?" Luka nodded. "You have to talk to her."  
  
"I think I figured that one out already. But I don't know what to say, and even if I did I don't know if she'd listen."  
  
"This is crazy. She'll calm down."  
  
"No. It's more than that. I didn't give her a choice."  
  
"Look, you want me to talk to her?" Carter took in Luka's horrified glance. "No, OK, maybe not. I don't think I can help you here."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Of course you're overlooking one major thing you have in your favour, and my advice is to milk it for all it's worth."  
  
"Which is?" Carter supressed a laugh at the almost childlike hope in Luka's voice.  
  
"A powerful weapon to have in your armoury. She loves you." 


	6. Chapter 6

Part Six  
  
The journey back to the hotel had started in silence, a silence broken uncharacteristically, by Damir.  
  
"She seems ... nice."  
  
"Yes, very nice," said Tatijana, adding, after the briefest of pauses "Considering."  
  
"Considering what?" Ivica asked.  
  
"Considering he didn't tell her we were coming."  
  
"He what?" Ivica roared with laughter.  
  
"And considering" continued Damir "that you were bullying her."  
  
"I was not". Ivica lit a cigarette which Tatijana removed from his mouth and, rolling down the window, threw out of the cab. "No smoking" she said, nodding at the sign.  
  
Ivica sighed, theatrically. "I hate this country".  
  
"Don't change the subject."  
  
"That wasn't bullying. That was just ... banter."  
  
"Banter my arse!"  
  
"Damir!"  
  
"Well. She was obviously terrified. Talking about her mother ... her drinking."  
  
"Eh, if Luka was too stupid to tell her -"  
  
"That's not the point. You didn't go out of your way to make her feel welcome."  
  
"It's not what I do."  
  
"No kidding."  
  
"I did try."  
  
"You did not. You enjoyed watching her squirm."  
  
"She didn't squirm. She held her own pretty well. I like her."  
  
"You see! You were testing her."  
  
Another sigh.  
  
"Poor woman. And now she has to babysit you tomorrow."  
  
"They'll fight over this. Her and Luka". said Tatijana quietly.  
  
"Storm in a teacup."  
  
"That's not for you to say. This is early days for them, it was difficult before and they don't need you making trouble. All you had to do was be polite, but no, you had to go at her like an elephant in a glass factory."  
  
"I didn't make trouble. Ye gods, we didn't arrive on his doorstep unannounced, he should have told her."  
  
The complete undeniability of this silenced them until Damir asked "Does she love him, do you think?" His wife looked at him, frowning a little.  
  
"You think not?"  
  
Damir shrugged. "I can't tell. It was hard to see past her terror." he said, directing his last comment pointedly at his father.  
  
"I'll ask her, shall I?" retorted Ivica, "Tomorrow, between the Picassos and the Hoppers?"  
  
"Don't get sarcastic with me."  
  
"Tell me, Miss Lockhart, what exactly are your intentions toward my son?" Ivica whined.  
  
"Oh stop it, both of you. All you have to do tomorrow is show her some kindness."  
  
"And manners" added Damir.  
  
"Manners," Ivica grumbled, "She's American, what does she know about manners?"  
  
"More than you apparently." said Tatijana. "Just ... remember that Luka has made this difficult for her - more difficult than it has to be. If you can't do it for her do it for him."  
  
"Just behave yourself, Tata" threw in Damir for good measure.  
  
"You don't think much of my inter personal skills do you, son?"  
  
"I don't think of them at all, you have none. Just try not to scare her. What if she looks at you and sees Luka in 25 years time? She'll run screaming into the lake with never a backward glance."  
  
"You think I can't do this, don't you? I can, I can do it, I'll surprise you yet." said Ivica as the cab pulled up at the hotel. He got out, followed by Tatijana, and lit a cigarette, inhaling hungrily. Damir pulled out his wallet.  
  
"I'll get this then."  
  
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""  
  
"Leave the mini bar alone, it'll cost a fortune". Ivica shut the door on Damir, dropped his key on the nightstand and threw himself crosswise onto his bed. Reaching into his coat pocket his fingers closed around the smooth metal of his hip flask. Prising off his shoes he tugged at the tie which Tatijana had made him wear. And she called him a bully. She'd sent him to get his hair cut too. What more did they want of him? She was Luka's girlfriend, not the Queen of fucking England.  
  
The television flickered into life at the behest of the remote control. After toying with the idea of the adult movie channel he flipped through the rest, an endless succession of perfect smiles interspersed by the odd grainy policier. Sighing with disgust he turned off the set and stared morosely at the ceiling.  
  
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" "  
  
"Is it the toiletries, do you think, or something they use for cleaning?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"That hotel smell."  
  
"No idea. "  
  
"But they do all smell alike, don't they?"  
  
"I suppose so. We should take the shower gel and shampoo home for Anna. And the shower cap."  
  
"That's stealing."  
  
"Of course it isn't. Bath robes, towels, ash trays - that's stealing. Shall I scrub your back?"  
  
"No. I'm comfortable like this." Tatijana leaned back against her husband, warm scented water adding to the haze of the dinner time wine and robbing her of the will to move. "When we move we should get a bath like this."  
  
"Sure. Anything else? Steam room, Jacuzzi, servants' quarters?"  
  
"No, just the bath. I'm not a greedy woman."  
  
"We'll have the sea."  
  
"Not the same" she said, running a hand up his calf. "How long since we haven't had the kids around at night?"  
  
Damir smiled, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Forever."  
  
"Think these rooms are soundproofed?" She twisted in his arms to smile up at him.  
  
"I don't know; why?"  
  
"Because," she said, insinuating her hand below the water line "your father is next door."  
  
"Just like old times" he smiled, before catching his breath and her precise meaning at one and the same moment.  
  
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" "  
  
He wanted a cigarette, but the no smoking signs mocked him from the walls of his room. Ivica considered lighting up anyway but could already imagine the mortification of Damir's disapproval if the nicotine police dragged his father out of his room in disgrace at midnight.  
  
They were right, Tatijana and Damir, of course they were, he'd behaved badly. But he'd seen, from the moment they arrived at the table, that Abby was angry with Luka and his own anger, easily roused, had surfaced. He'd heard her sotto voce "Sonofabitch", seen the hostility in her glance.  
  
How was he to know Luka hadn't told her?  
  
Well, he could see it now, her fear doing battle with her anger for supremacy. He didn't know which had won out, but closed his eyes and groaned. Well done, Ivica, well done. He wondered if she had seen his own fear, his terror of this woman who held his son's life in her hands. His son who had left with her, his son who hadn't told her that his family was here to visit, to meet her. He felt terribly uneasy. What was it about them which meant he couldn't tell her? Another pull at the hip flask and his thoughts changed gear. Or what was it about her?  
  
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" "  
  
"How about some champagne?"  
  
"Too expensive. Anyway, we'd never manage a whole bottle and be fit for anything in the morning."  
  
"There's a half bottle in the bar thing."  
  
"Even more expensive."  
  
"Eh, let's live a little." Damir brought a hand down on his wife's backside with a satisfying slap.  
  
"Ouch" she said, without much conviction.  
  
"Plastic cups OK?"  
  
"Have to be," she mumbled into her pillow. Damir climbed back into bed, resting the bottle on the small of her bare back.  
  
"You are a pig, Damir Kovac" she whined. He leaned close to her ear.  
  
"That's not what you were calling me 10 minutes ago" he murmured.  
  
"I wasn't thinking clearly 10 minutes ago."  
  
"Evidently. Contrary to appearances this is not particularly cold. Come on, sit up." Damir rested against the headboard and surveyed the wreckage of the bed with some satisfaction. He didn't suppose his brother would be getting any tonight and for a second he allowed himself a spiteful little thrill of schadenfreude. He was immediately ashamed. "Do you think I should call?"  
  
"Call who?" She knew who.  
  
"Luka."  
  
"No."  
  
"No?"  
  
"Think about it. If they've made up they may be . occupied. And if they haven't - well, how much do you think he's going to want to talk about it to you over the 'phone?"  
  
"This isn't like you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'd have thought you'd have been the first to tell me I should be concerned."  
  
"So you should. But this is for them to sort out. If this can't be fixed they were never going to amount to much."  
  
"Why do you suppose he didn't tell her?"  
  
"He's afraid. Look, this is new for him all this. He can't change overnight."  
  
"But he should know her by now - know her enough not to be afraid of her."  
  
"Why? You think you know everything there is to know about me?"  
  
"I'll never know everything about you."  
  
"So there you are. And this is complicated, right?"  
  
"Apparently." Damir sipped not very cold champagne as his wife nestled against him.  
  
"We're not, though, are we? Complicated? I mean, I love you, love the kids, always will."  
  
"Luka was uncomplicated once."  
  
"Until life intervened."  
  
"You're very alike."  
  
"Are we?"  
  
"Loyal, honest, stubborn, a predisposition to sentimentality when in drink," She paused before continuing "Highly sexed -"  
  
"What? How do -"  
  
"- gullible."  
  
"Ha ha. Want me to enumerate your qualities?"  
  
"As long as they start with highly sexed."  
  
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" """"""""""""""""""""""""""  
  
It was only after Ivica had put his shoes back on and made his way down to the bar where he drank three large vodkas and almost wept with gratitude when he found he could smoke that he began to feel a little more positive.  
  
So. She was afraid; he was afraid. And Luka? Was he afraid too? He knew the answer to that. But of what? Of her? Of losing her? If he could make sense of this he'd know what to do, how to speak to her tomorrow, know whether he needed to fear her himself. He remembered Luka's anxious gaze over Abby's head, and only now recognised what it had been saying to him, only now registered the meaning of his hands settled on her shoulders. "Be careful of her, Tata". Luka wasn't afraid of her; he was afraid for her. Ivica laughed aloud then, his only companion in the bar looking nervously at him.  
  
"Buy you a drink?" Ivica asked expansively. He was aware that his accent was probably impenetrable thanks to the vodka.  
  
"No - no thank you. I have to, uh, I have to leave now"  
  
Ivica watched as the portly, flabby little man beat a hasty retreat.  
  
"No? Well, how about you, Kovac? You have one?"  
  
Don't mind if I do, you old bugger, don't mind if I do.  
  
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" """""""""""""""""""""""""""  
  
She was beyond hearing, sound asleep, snoring lightly. Still, he bent low over the 'phone as he dialled and held his breath, waiting for a reply. Please let there be no reply.  
  
"Luka Kovac."  
  
"Luka."  
  
"Damir?"  
  
"Are you alone?" A pause.  
  
"Yes." 


	7. Chapter 7

Part Seven  
  
As interminable as the day seemed he really didn't want it to end. When it did he would have to make his way to Abby's place, pursuade her to let him in, to talk to him. To forgive him. And he felt sick at the prospect.  
  
"I said your chest films are here."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Here. Chest films. Yours. Mr Bailey. And that makes three times. Don't make me say it again."  
  
"I'm sorry. Thankyou."  
  
"You're welcome. And I'm only saying that once." Luka watched Haleh's retreating back. He felt as though someone had taken a piece of glass paper to the inside of his eyelids, his head ached and there was a faint ringing in his ears. The time he'd spent on the 'phone with Damir had put paid to any expectation he might have had of sleeping last night and that expectation hadn't been high to start with. He'd grabbed the 'phone in hopes that it might be Abby and had a sneaking suspicion that his efforts to keep the disappointment from his voice on hearing Damir's hadn't been altogether successful.  
  
"Why are you whispering?"  
  
"Tatijana's asleep. It didn't go well, then."  
  
"No. Not well."  
  
"She's really mad, huh?"  
  
"As mad as hell."  
  
"I can see her point, Luka"  
  
"So can I. It only makes it worse."  
  
"I gave the old man a piece of my mind."  
  
"I could hardly bear to listen to what he was saying to her. I should have been there for her, not let him walk all over her."  
  
"Yes, you should. Why weren't you?"  
  
"Jesus, Damir, I don't know. Him and her together. My past and my future bitching at each other."  
  
"Why didn't you tell her?"  
  
"I don't - "  
  
"Don't tell me you don't know."  
  
Luka was silent for a moment. "I was terrified."  
  
"Do you remember me telling you about the time Josip emptied a whole canister of talcum powder into the bathroom? He didn't say a word to us, as though perhaps we wouldn't notice. You sound just like him."  
  
"Well then perhaps you understand what - "  
  
"He was five, Luka."  
  
"I feel like I'm five! Tata can do that to me! So can she! I'm nearly forty, and I don't want to be five, but there it is."  
  
"Well she isn't five. She deserves to be treated like a grown up."  
  
"You know if all you're going to do is state the obvious I'd just as soon you put the 'phone down."  
  
"For what it's worth he said she held her own pretty well."  
  
"Dear God."  
  
"And from what I heard he's right."  
  
"I feel like I led her into an ambush."  
  
"Which you did."  
  
"She shouldn't have to do this. Every time I think about tomorrow - "  
  
"Today."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's today."  
  
"Today. Thank you so much. Well, it makes me feel sick."  
  
"No sicker than her, I shouldn't think. Look, if it's any comfort I don't believe he'll give her a hard time."  
  
"Except that his idea of a hard time might not be yours or mine. Can I ask you something?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Did you . . . like her?"  
  
"Yes, I did, I think."  
  
"You think?"  
  
"Luka, I hardly spoke to her. I don't suppose I'd have got a representative impression of her anyway, would I?"  
  
"I guess not."  
  
"So what's next?"  
  
"Next?"  
  
"After tomorrow."  
  
"Today."  
  
"Today."  
  
"God knows. I'll have to go to her, hope she'll talk to me."  
  
"She'll talk to you."  
  
"Get off the 'phone, Damir; let him get to sleep" Tatijana's voice carried to Luka.  
  
"I have to go" said Damir.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Get some sleep or you'll be useless tomor - later."  
  
"I'll be useless anyway." Neither of them put the 'phone down.  
  
"Damir?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm sorry. It shouldn't have been like this."  
  
"No, it shouldn't. I never had you pegged as a halfwit, Luka but - "  
  
"Please, don't." Damir though he heard tears in his brother's voice.  
  
"It's not me you should be apologising to."  
  
"I know. I know. I've fucked up before, but this ... " Still they waited.  
  
"You should go."  
  
"Yeah - we don't want both of us in the shit, do we?"  
  
"No." A pause. "Damir?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you - think this is fixable?"  
  
"God, Luka, I don't know, how would I know? But come on, she loves you , doesn't she?"  
  
"After tonight I don't know."  
  
"She does. You might have some major grovelling to do, but you'll work it out. Women always respond well to a little heartfelt self abasement." Luka laughed a little at that.  
  
"Voice of experience, huh?"  
  
"Past master. And if you want any tips I'll be happy to oblige. For a small fee."  
  
"How much?"  
  
"I don't know. Have to see what Tatijana spends. I have to go, man. I need sleep even if you don't."  
  
"Sure. Enjoy the shops."  
  
"I won't. And Luka - call me tomorrow."  
  
"Today."  
  
"Today."  
  
Well, tomorrow - today - was here he thought morosely as he made his way to the elderly man whose chest films confirmed Luka's earlier diagnosis of a not insignificant infection. He explained the diagnosis, prescribed antibiotics, reassured Mr Bailey and his daughter that the old man would be feeling much better soon.  
  
"I'll go call Mom."  
  
"Don't know what I'd do without her," he said as the door closed behind her.  
  
"Your daughter?"  
  
"Yes. You have children?"  
  
"Ah, no, no."  
  
"It's not for everyone, but me and Lilian, best thing we ever did having the kids."  
  
"How many do you have?"  
  
"Four. Only Julia lives close now. I miss the rest of them."  
  
"I'm sure you do." Luka wanted very badly for this conversation to end.  
  
"Strange thing about being a parent. The better you are the happier they are about leaving you. And you know, you never stop worrying. Carl, our eldest, he lives in Germany now, designs electronic systems for cars. We don't get to see him much, and it's the hardest thing in the world, not being able to do anything for him if he's sick, has troubles. He has a lovely wife, three kids of his own. Still. How 'bout your folks?"  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"You're not from the US."  
  
"No, no I'm not. My father still lives in Croatia."  
  
"And I'll bet he still loses sleep over you."  
  
"If he was one for sleeping much I expect he would, yes."  
  
"That's it, see. You're still a kid to him, can't look after yourself. And his dad thought the same about him. Same for everyone."  
  
"You ready to go, dad?" asked Julia from the door.  
  
"Sure. Come and help me with my shoes."  
  
"Let me" said Luka dropping to one knee and taking Mr Bailey's foot on the other to tie the laces. As he finished he looked up to find the old man looking at him narrowly.  
  
"You sure you don't have kids?"  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"You've done that before."  
  
"I - I have nieces, a nephew." Two children whose laces don't need tying any more  
  
"It shows. Well, thank you for everything, Dr. Kovac."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
At the door Mr Bailey turned. "Dr. Kovac?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Call your dad." 


	8. Chapter 8

Part Eight  
  
This is rather long; it started out as two separate chapters (one Abby , one Ivica) but I spliced them together.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------  
  
"They really are very ugly, aren't they?"  
  
"I like them." Abby took a moment to compose her features into an amiable smile before turning to face Ivica.  
  
"Oh, yes, I like them too, but still, they are ridiculous. Green lions standing guard over high art. Green lions." Abby didn't respond. "And how are you today? You look tired. Me, I am a little hung over. Why don't we find somewhere, take some coffee, smoke a cigarette, settle into the morning."  
  
"It's your vacation."  
  
"You know somewhere?"  
  
"I think I can find some coffee." Ivica gave a little bow. Did they teach them that in school?  
  
"Lead on."  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It had been a long time since they had voluntarily spent the night apart, and more than once she reached a hand over to the other side of the bed, knowing she would find no-one but doing it anyway, like picking at a scab. Jesus, my whole life has been like picking at a scab. That's why it never gets better.  
  
Once the adrenalin of her anger had dissipated she had felt achingly sad; she wanted to cry and she wanted Luka to see her do it. He wouldn't see; she didn't cry.  
  
Suddenly hating her bed she shrugged into a sweater and trailed into the living room where she sat in the dark, twisting her hair between her fingers.  
  
"This sucks" she said aloud and reached for the 'phone, dialling his number in the dark. "Sonofabitch" she spat on hearing the engaged tone. "Get off the goddamned 'phone." She was tired, hungry, cold, lonely, angry. Full house. What had he done, what had he done, what had he done?  
  
Well, what had he done? He'd forgotten himself and in the process he'd forgotten her, like everyone else did, and she finally gave into her tears. How could he do this after everything -- and here she stopped. After everything. After living with her dishonesty about her drinking, after stepping away when she was with Carter, after being enough of a friend to tell her that he would not help her to distort her life or anyone else's; sent flowers on her birthday, shown her his life and held her through the night after she'd laid out her own for his inspection. And in the months they'd been together since then he had lived with her recovery, had been watchful, careful of her; on countless occasions he had caught her eye, a half smile in his own when she had started to drift into old habits; had on at least two occasions simply handed her the 'phone with the word "Angela" and had nudged her and laughed. Two weeks ago he had told her that she had blood on her pyjama bottoms after she'd stayed the night.  
  
"Dammit."  
  
"You have what you need?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Go and take your shower - I'll go to the drugstore."  
  
"They're the ones in the blue box with the - "  
  
"I know."  
  
He knew. And she'd shaken her head then and smiled to herself.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------  
  
She wondered whether he were sleeping, thought probably not. Perhaps she should try calling again ... but if he were sleeping. And what would she say anyway - "Hey, I'm missing you, you bastard." ? She felt pretty sure that his father would be sleeping. God, his father. She was angry. She was angry and she was scared but she realised that she'd learned enough over the past year to know the difference. And she knew too that a few hours earlier the two emotions had been too closely bound up with one another for her to tell them apart, and that a good measure of what she had let fly at Luka had been her fear. What was she afraid of precisely? That this meant that Luka didn't understand her? Of an elderly foreigner with paint stained fingers and a sardonic glint in his eye? An elderly foreigner who didn't trust her; who had had no trouble trusting Danijela.  
  
"She's dead. She's been dead and buried more than 10 years and no-one digs her up but you, you moron."  
  
She was surprised to find that she'd spoken aloud. She'd sometimes wished she could talk to her, that she could say "I'm sorry, it should be you here, shouldn't it? Is this OK with you?"  
  
But then she'd been afraid of the answer.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"You want one of these?"  
  
"Yes. But we can't smoke in here."  
  
"No?" Ivica slid the cigarettes back into his pocket irritably.  
  
"We could go outside." Abby suggested.  
  
"Too cold."  
  
"Then we're stuck."  
  
Ivica regarded her levelly, turning his cigarette lighter over and over in his fingers, stained with paint and nicotine. "You don't like me, do you?"  
  
"I don't know you."  
  
"But what you know ..."  
  
"Not much, no."  
  
"Not at all." She didn't answer that. "It doesn't matter if I'm not Luka's father, but I am so I suppose it does."  
  
"Why? I mean we're not going to be dropping in for coffee Sundays after church."  
  
"You go to church?"  
  
"No. You?"  
  
"No. See - we have something in common."  
  
"You me and half the rest of the world."  
  
"I'm not concerned with rest of the world. Would you like some more coffee? I would."  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Sonofabitch. Pay attention, Abby. She'd splashed hot water onto her hand whilst making tea and had cried all over again. Pay attention. Not her strong suit, not ever. She felt a little embarrassed if the truth be told. Sitting in the dark she had thought back to the conversations they'd had when he came back from Croatia. He'd apologised and she'd let him, and the following night she'd explained how she'd been working on being herself, a self she could live with and had told him plainly that she wanted him back or she wanted him gone, and he'd asked her on a date. They'd never been on the date. Instead they'd fallen back into bed and back into each other's lives. For three months now she had luxuriated in a warm glow of relief; would catch herself smiling at nothing in the middle of a shift. Against this backdrop she'd continued to work at her recovery, like her masterpiece, and it was only now that she realised that, as much as Luka had forgotten himself, she too had overlooked him. Paying attention was one of his strong suits, and he'd listened to her, heard her; been there for her, kept quiet when she needed him to, kept away from her when she needed to be alone or to be lonely; told her to can it when she overstepped the mark, loved her enough to be critical. Now she allowed herself to entertain the real possibility that she was in danger of becoming addicted to her recovery, that it would become the silent, shadowy third in their relationship as the secret of her drinking had been before, as Carter had become and as she had accused Danijela of being.  
  
Sometimes the blindingly obvious is no such thing. Now she rolled her eyes and sighed as she reminded herself that her recovery was not an end in itself, was not her travelling companion, not her masterpeice. It was her vehicle to get her from one day to the next, from imprisonment to freedom, from sickness to health. Her masterpiece was her life and masterpieces are made to be shared.  
  
"Sonofabitch."  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Look, look here, I brought something to show you."  
  
Ivica pulled an envelope from his pocket and from it took a photograph which he handed to Abby. "His confirmation."  
  
Luka, black and white, Sunday bested and brushed and polished to within an inch of his life; long limbed, a little too thin, but still, graceful and already handsome, already Luka. "He was 13." Abby realised that she was smiling. "Oh, and this." Another snap, colour this time, Luka, Damir and another youth, fair haired and blue eyed, obviously not related. "That's Drazan, they used to go fishing together. Does he remind you of anyone?"  
  
"No."  
  
"He was Tatijana's brother."  
  
"Was?"  
  
"He died."  
  
"In the war?"  
  
"In the war. His mother went a little crazy for a while after that, spends hours in the church, on her knees, babbling, worrying her beads. And when she isn't in church she never says a word, not a word. For two years she is like this. And then one day my telephone rings and it's her and she's asking do I know that Tatijana's pregnant again and why can't Damir give her a break? It was same with Luka. Oh, not church thing, but getting him to talk after Vukovar was just pain. For a long time only sound we hear from him is crying, although sometimes he'd wake in the night and he'd say things ... things I was glad his mother didn't hear."  
  
"He still doesn't go to church." Abby remarked.  
  
"I don't blame him." He handed her another photograph and Abby felt her blood turn to ice. Danijela, dark, pretty, laughing. "She's dead too." he said softly. "Dead, gone. You understand? Yes? You understand? I need a smoke." He stood up but Abby stared at the photograph for a moment longer.  
  
I don't blame him either.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------  
  
"You know, Luka's grandmother wanted him to be a priest. He escaped that, thank God."  
  
"Thank God? Because he was meant to be a doctor?"  
  
"What? No. No, anyone can be doctor. He's good doctor?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I knew that. Well, I know he is a good doctor before, but ... things change."  
  
"So ... "  
  
"Because he was meant for a husband and father. He was good father. Better than me."  
  
I'll bet  
  
"Really that is his . . . vocation."  
  
"Well, I can't have children."  
  
"Oh? Can't?"  
  
"My mother - "  
  
"Ah."  
  
" - her . . . condition might be passed on. I don't want to risk that."  
  
"My wife played piano, you know."  
  
"What?"  
  
"She played beautifully, good enough to be professional. They expected her to do that, after state paid for her training."  
  
"And?"  
  
"She married me, had the boys, decided she didn't want it. Crazy woman in our family too, eh?" Abby supressed a smile. Ivica watched her for a second longer before continuing. "Me, I was painting, making no money at all, so she taught, you know, spent hours listening to terrible children torturing Mozart and Debussy. I still can't listen to Claire de Lune . Anyway, the babies, our babies, would sleep in the corner of the room and when they were old enough she sat them at the piano and she taught them."  
  
"I didn't know Luka could play piano."  
  
"You know what happened?" Abby shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Neither of them could do more than pick out the notes mechanically. Not a shred - is this right word, shred? - of Elena's gift had passed to them." Seeing where he was going with this she laughed.  
  
"Not the same. Their lives, Luka's and Damir's, they aren't torn to bits because they can't play the piano."  
  
"Not my point."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"It's a risk. It's always a risk. No way to tell what they take from you. Elena had friend, played violin in orchestra in Dubrovnik, good player. He had a son, Antun, good player too. And a complete shit."  
  
"I don't - "  
  
"And if your children have this illness who knows what other great things they do? They can turn out bad even with such good parents. And they turn out good even where there is trouble, see? " Abby didn't answer. "You know what is feeling parents feel most?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Guess."  
  
"Love, I suppose."  
  
"Wrong. Fear. From minute they're born." He lit two cigarettes and handed one to her. "I saw that in film once."  
  
"'Now Voyager'"  
  
"That's it, yes, 'Now Voyager'. You're no Bette Davis, huh?"  
  
"I hope not."  
  
"And I'm not - " he stopped; "Eh, I forget."  
  
"Paul Henreid."  
  
"Yes? Really? I'm sure you're right. Anyway, you ask any parent what they feel. Fear. We felt it with Damir. We decided to make Luka anyway. Good thing, huh?"  
  
"It's not the same."  
  
"No, no, not the same. You, you're even afraid of being afraid."  
  
"And what about Luka?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What if he doesn't want to go through it again?"  
  
"He said that?"  
  
"No."  
  
"No?"  
  
"We haven't discussed it."  
  
"But he knows how you feel."  
  
"I think so."  
  
"Nothing to discuss then."  
  
"What?"  
  
Ivica's laugh was not pleasant. "He won't try to persuade you."  
  
"I - you - don't even know if he'd want to."  
  
"Perhaps you should ask."  
  
"And perhaps you should mind your own business."  
  
Ivica held up his hands in mock surrender but his eyes were serious. "You're right, you're right, none of my business."  
  
"You want to see the museum or not? It's open."  
  
"Sure. A little Saturday morning ... alienation" and he spoke the word as though relishing every syllable.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------  
  
She'd never quite got the hang of cubism. Ivica displayed more enthusiasm than she could even pretend to.  
  
"Look at this woman. Fragmented. Good word for stupid old foreign guy, eh?"  
  
"I know how she feels."  
  
"Yes? Me too. All the planes of her face seen at once. How terrible if all the planes of our faces can be seen at once. And yet they are, by the artist."  
  
"Kinda like God then."  
  
"Yes! God the creator who sees all things at all times. Very good. I like that. I am God!"  
  
"I didn't mean you, actually."  
  
Ivica nudged her and winked. "I know."  
  
"Right. So - Hopper."  
  
"Hopper."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------  
  
"You know what I see when I look at this?"  
  
"I have a feeling you're about to tell me."  
  
"They don't look at each other. Look - no, look. Not one of these people looks at anyone else. See all these pools of light - the don't touch, they don't melt together. Not really lighting everything up, just making the rest of the space dark. Like spotlight on stage or -" Ivica was becoming animated now, warming to his subject, " - or like light shining on prisoner being asked questions. It's very, very cold."  
  
"I guess."  
  
"What a way to live."  
  
"They're not real."  
  
"I know people like that, don't you?"  
  
"I know people who don't look at themselves. That's worse."  
  
"Me? You mean me? I knew you didn't like me. Doesn't matter, is OK because I like you. You know why? Luka. Luka loves you, and I trust his judgment. He made good choice before, I think he chose well this time."  
  
"You don't know me."  
  
"Don't need to. I know him. Good enough for me."  
  
"His judgement isn't infallible you know."  
  
"Of course not. What fun would a woman like you have with the Pope, eh? And we are probably not having this conversation if he hadn't pissed you off."  
  
"Is that what he did?"  
  
"Isn't it? I know he got scared and let you down - he didn't screw your best friend or steal your money. You obviously don't keep a dog so he didn't shoot that." Abby made a conscious effort to stop her mouth from falling open.  
  
"What he did, Mr Kovac - "  
  
"Ivica, please."  
  
"What he did, Mr Kovac, is to assume he knew how I'd react."  
  
"He was wrong?"  
  
"Not the point. He made me ... powerless."  
  
"You're joking."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You have all the power here now. He's handed it to you on a plate."  
  
"I don't - "  
  
"Give him a break, help him out here."  
  
"You do see that this is about power, then?"  
  
"Sure. It's always about power."  
  
"There has to be balance. I don't want all the power."  
  
"Too bad, you've got it. And what do you mean, balance? It's not ... I don't know the word ... constance -"  
  
"Constant."  
  
"Constant. Thank you. Sometimes him, sometimes you, sometimes both. Jesus Christ, you'll worry your way into a fucking early grave if you try and balance it all the time. He has to get to be the kid sometimes and you the mother, yes?" Abby was silent, but Ivica thought he saw the beginnings of a smile on her face. "Look, someone loves you, you have power over them; you love them, they have power over you, it's how it is. You have to be careful how you use it." Still she didn't answer. It seemed as though he were no longer talking to her. His eyes were trained on the Hopper but she didn't think he saw it. "I ..." his voice faltered. "It's taken him so long to ... when he came to Vodice in the summer I tell him he should stop thinking so much, he should tell you what he wanted, take his chances. And he did. And now ... now I'm thinking that -"  
  
"You were wrong?"  
  
He turned to her then. "Was I?"  
  
"You'd have to ask him I think."  
  
"Give him a chance." Abby had been tensed against this man all day and most of the preceding night, seeing his hostility, scepticism, his lack of faith in her. In fact, as she saw now, he was a father, desperate for his child.  
  
"Are you going to cry?" she asked. "Your eyes are very bright."  
  
"I don't know. Can I cry in museum?"  
  
"If you can swear I guess you can cry."  
  
Ivica scrubbed at his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"You know what. You going to make me say it? It's just ... I can't bear to think of him being hurt again. You understand?"  
  
"I understand." And she did.  
  
"What he did ... I feel responsible."  
  
"You aren't."  
  
"Of course. But if I am different, not so difficult ... "  
  
"He did it, not you."  
  
"He wasn't thinking. You never did that?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just hid from something. Pretended it wasn't happening."  
  
"Only my entire life."  
  
"We all do it. Only sometimes ... we have to stop because something happens and we can't do it any more. The place where dreams fail. He's been there. I don't want him to ever go there again."  
  
"You want him to go on pretending?"  
  
"I want that he doesn't have to. I don't want him to be always on his guard, walking on ... on ... "  
  
"Egg shells" she supplied.  
  
"Really? Egg shells? Egg shells. Not what I was thinking. Still."  
  
"You're saying this is my fault."  
  
"I'm not. How to deal with someone like Luka, with his past, not easy, I know that. Listen, you know about the man who spent years looking for the perfect woman? He found her. Problem is, she's looking for the perfect man."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"You have to let him be wrong, to fuck up. I mean, from what I hear you did enough of that into your life so far for both of you." This time Abby's jaw dropped. "He can't be perfect just because you aren't." She made to speak but he ploughed on. "You work hard to get better, yes? Good, that's good. But so does he. He didn't tell you about us because he was afraid of how you would feel, not to hurt you or make you feel bad. He was wrong, but haven't you done the same thing?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh, I thought when you were together before you didn't tell him about your ... problem."  
  
"My problem?"  
  
Ivica sighed impatiently. "Don't play games with me, it won't work. I'm too old to waste time with it or to care what you think about me. Your drinking. You didn't tell him." Abby took a deep breath.  
  
"That was ... before. Things are different now."  
  
"Different now? How long are you together now?"  
  
"Three months."  
  
"Three months." He snapped his fingers in her face. "Nothing. Eighteen years I'm with Elena and I buried her not knowing a tenth of what there was to know about her. It's how it is. And if you think you have it straight one day the next day it changes. You can't make him into what you want, you can only ask him for what you need and sometimes he'll let you down." He paused, a little out of breath and Abby was aware that other people in the gallery were looking covertly in their direction. Ivica shrugged, wearily. "You can live in your head, or you can live with Luka but you can't do both. But you can help him not to live in his head too. He is what he is, you are what you are. If he's not what you want let him go now. Ah, fuck it." He turned and left.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
9 down: a godlike transformation of communications centre theory, containing nothing.  
  
Abby threw the newspaper aside and her pen with it. There was always one clue that eluded her, always one. Still, the solution would be in tomorrow's paper. Today's paper, she corrected herself. No options, no alternative answer which would fit and still make sense of the letters around it. In the bathroom she splashed cold water onto her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror above the basin.  
  
Options.  
  
She had options, although not many. She saw clearly that there were two directions to take here and two only: up or out. Take this as a setback. Hell, three months and she'd fallen into the trap of thinking that it was all all right, that if she worked on herself it would all be all right. But she'd forgotten that she wasn't the only one in this relationship. She'd overlooked the fact that Luka wasn't there to mould himself to her requirements, although he tried, that there were things he couldn't deal with without her help and he had not yet learned to take her strength for granted. She could in fact simply forgive him.  
  
And the alternative? Out.  
  
She didn't want out.  
  
She returned her gaze to her face in the mirror and grimaced a little.  
  
"Get over yourself."  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The well known tactic of counting to ten in moments of anger was a recent rediscovery for Abby. Like most overused advice it had turned out to be founded in common sense and now she exhaled slowly as she reached ten and got to her feet to follow the old man out of the gallery. She found him outside, near the silly green lions, half way through a cigarette.  
  
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean to say those things. Hopper makes me crazy."  
  
"Do you always do this?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Judge before you have grounds for judging."  
  
"Maybe. Probably. Yes."  
  
"It's not very helpful."  
  
"No."  
  
"Do I get to answer?"  
  
Ivica lit another cigarette and she noticed with a twinge of compassion that the hand which held his lighter shook a little.  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"You're assuming that I can't deal with this, with him. Like he assumed I wouldn't be able to deal with you. You're wrong, both of you. I can. It's taken me more than 30 years to be able to see how to do it, but I can. He was an idiot, like a scared kid. But I'm not stupid or heartless, Mr Kovac - "  
  
"Ivica."  
  
" - and I know that scared kids need reassurance, not punishment. This is a new place for me to be in, giving reassurance, and it feels good. I was mad, now I'm not. That's how it goes with human beings. And I am a human being. I'm not just a drunk - "  
  
"Please - "  
  
"Don't interrupt. I'm not just a drunk or the woman who screwed up before. It's true what you said. I don't have to like you, you don't have to like me. I like Luka. I like him enough to love him. He's my business and the only reason this has anything at all to do with you is that you love him too. Let the two of us deal with it, let me deal with it. You might not like me in the end but it won't be because I treated your boy badly. You get that?"  
  
Ivica was silent for a moment before saying "You want to go see a movie?"  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A film. Let's get out of here. I show off too much around painting. We can get out of the cold and see a film and I'll buy the popcorn."  
  
"I don't like popcorn."  
  
"Me neither!" He took her arm and slipped through his. "We have so much in common you and I. You want a cigarette?" 


	9. Chapter 9

Part Nine  
  
"Dr. Kovac?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Call your dad."  
  
Call my dad. I can think of a few things I could call my dad. And myself.  
  
A thin drizzle had set in by the time Luka left the hospital. He'd actually considered simply going back to his apartment, locking the door and drinking 'til he passed out, but his feet took him to her place anyway and he waited, spirits as damp as the weather, for her to answer the door. Except she didn't. He glanced at his watch; 6.15 pm. Where was she? He hesitated to use his key but damn it all, he was cold and damp and miserable, it was dark and he had not the energy to go home.  
  
The lights were on in the apartment, but she didn't answer when he called her name. Her cigarettes and lighter lay on the table and the kettle was warm to his touch. Softly lit and warm as the apartment was Luka was still cold. He sat at the table and picked up her lighter, mechanically flicking it on and off, on and off.  
  
I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. And the flame fascinated his tired eyes until they slid shut.  
  
I can't do this.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"He's a monster" said Ivica.  
  
"Some father, huh?"  
  
"I meant the boyfriend."  
  
"The father too."  
  
"Just doing his job."  
  
"Yeah - making his daughter miserable."  
  
"Protecting her. From the monster."  
  
"And turning her into one."  
  
"He was right though, about the young man."  
  
"Maybe he would have stayed."  
  
"For the money."  
  
"She knew that. The old man just wanted to tie her up, fastened impossible strings to everything."  
  
"Everyone comes with strings - Luka, you."  
  
"Well, some strings are more ... unusal than others, wouldn't you say?"  
  
Ivica shrugged. "It's usual to be unusual."  
  
"Do you have an answer for everything?"  
  
"No. Yes." He laughed then, a real laugh. "Am I a monster?"  
  
"Oh, yes. Even your son says so."  
  
"Luka said that?"  
  
"No, Damir."  
  
"Yes?" He muttered something in Croatian and pushed his plate away, digging into his pocket for the pen he'd been worrying as a substitue for cigarettes in the cinema. "You're right. About the daughter. She should have had her man and paid the price, even if it ended badly. Because everything has a price. You have to work out whether it's worth paying." He began to draw on the paper napkin at the side of his plate. "Thing is, Abby ... time's short. I had a wife and I loved her and she died. Luka too, she died before her time. And the children died so much before their time that I can't even think about it. I don't know what your life has been, I can't. But I don't understand all this ... soul searching. My son, he's a good man and he loves you, I know it. You know it. I want to see him happy. I'll tell you something now. I don't pray. Shocked, eh? But this last time, in summer when he came to me, I'm praying then. I'm praying for it to be all OK with you, because it means so much to him. I'm praying for him to be settled doing his work which he is so suited to. I'm praying to see him happy. Think God was listening?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
Ivica nodded. "I want to see it so much. But if it would work I'd promise never to see him again. Wouldn't matter if I knew he was happy with you. I want to like you but it doesn't matter if I don't as long as he is happy with you. I know I ask too many questions, but I need to know, for myself, you understand?" Abby nodded. "Can I ask you something? Does he still dream?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Bad dreams?"  
  
"Sometimes."  
  
"I couldn't stand those dreams in Vodice. I would go out, onto the sand, let the sound of the sea drown them out. "  
  
"It's better than it was. Getting better."  
  
Another nod. "Here - for you." He slid the paper napkin across the table. A few deftly executed lines and curves and the green lions were grinning up at her. "Souvenir from a monster." His voice was very quiet.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It didn't matter where he turned, the dog was there. It looked for all the world as though it were sleeping but when he looked closer he saw the blood caked and smeared around its muzzle. And then its eyes opened and he knew for certain that it was dead.  
  
"Move! Why don't you move! I have to get inside!"  
  
He stepped over the dog only to find himself at another door and there it was again. He tried to move it but couldn't keep his hands on it, it was so cold, too cold.  
  
So many doors; the ambulance bay, trauma rooms, the lounge, Doc Magoo's, banks, shops, his father's house, Abby's apartment, and always it was there until in the end he understood and sat down next to it, leaning against the door jamb, fingers buried in the icy fur. He looked into its eyes, mottled now like rotting fruit, and the blood oozed and he cried, as people came and went , stepping over them both.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
He needed to shave, she thought as she watched him sleep, his head on her table, cigarette lighter clutched in his hand. His hair was damp and he hadn't taken off his coat. Setting down the groceries she sat down at the table cautiously. He stirred a little and she frowned, recognising the signs of his dreaming.  
  
"Hey," she said softly. He didn't wake and she saw that there were tears on his face. "Hey!" A little louder this time and she reached over to ruffle his hair. He sat up abruptly, saying something in Croatian and wiping his face with his fingers.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The dog ... " he said.  
  
"What dog?"  
  
He looked around then and shook his head.  
  
"You look terrible." Luka nodded, silently. "Didn't sleep too good, huh? I did. Well, eventually." Still he said nothing. "Are you going to speak to me? Because it's getting kinda lonely here."  
  
"I don't know what to say."  
  
"Aren't you going to ask me about my day? Go on, ask me about my day."  
  
"Abby - "  
  
"There, I knew you wanted to ask. Well, contrary to expectations it was good. A little ... prickly sometimes but really, on the whole, good."  
  
"I don't - "  
  
"I learned a little about Cubism and Hopper, I saw a very cute photograph of you and got a whole load of advice from your dad. He gets to be God and I get to be your mom sometimes."  
  
"My what?"  
  
"Your mother." Luka stared back at her, panic beginning to gleam in his eyes, and Abby waved a hand. "I guess you had to be there. Oh, and we saw a movie. No popcorn."  
  
"A movie."  
  
"Yes. 'Washington Square'. Your dad does a passable impression of Ralph Richardson, did you know that?" Luka shook his head. "No? His Montgomery Clift was awful though."  
  
"Abby, what's going on?"  
  
"Going on?" She leaned on folded arms toward him. "I'm being the bigger person here. Look at me - all growed up. Who knew, huh?"  
  
"I don't understand." His actually had tears in his eyes now.  
  
"I forgive you. You're off the hook, paroled. What you did was ridiculous, but I still have my savings, you're not the pet killing type and the other option would entail you sleeping with Carter, so ..." Luka opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head. "Were you about to say you're sorry?" A nod. "You did that already. Apology accepted. I'm kinda taking charge on this one, you know? It's not going to shut us down, it's not, because I happen to think you're worth it, strings and all. Bottom line - I love you. And I mean, if you deal with my strings I'll deal with yours. And you don't understand any of this, do you? The thing is - you were a jerk, but then I guess it was your turn. You pissed me off, Luka. Don't do it again."  
  
"No."  
  
"So - next step. You have some serious amends to make." and she got up and headed toward her bedroom. When he didn't follow she turned back. "Now."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"How did it go?"  
  
"How did what go?"  
  
"Oh, don't."  
  
"I had a charming day. She's a very nice woman. And you?"  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"What were you expecting?" Ivica glanced around the hotel lounge irritably. "Where is that bloody waiter?"  
  
"You apologised? She was OK with you?"  
  
"Yes. And yes. She'll take care of him."  
  
Damir sat back in his seat and let his breath out extravagantly. He'd been on edge all day as he followed Tatijana, as she scoured what seemed like every shop in Chicago for gifts for the children, for their neighbour, for her mother; picked at his lunch in the Walnut Room to Tatijana's disgust and scowled at her when she told him not be such a miserable swine. She was upstairs now, changing for dinner. Damir took the glass of scotch from the waiter and had to stop himself from downing it in one. Ivica had no such scruples and set his glass emphatically back on the tray, ordering another shot.  
  
"So you apologised, you really made a proper apology?"  
  
"Damir, I have my faults, but I'm not a liar." his father returned, coolly. "You can judge for yourself. We're having dinner with her tonight."  
  
"With her? Where?"  
  
"At her place. Her and Luka I suppose, if she's managed to talk him out of the funk he's got himself into. And then if they've got out of bed. She's a passionate woman, though she hides it well. I remember when your mother and I fought - "  
  
"Tata, please, no."  
  
"You're such a little bourgeois prude, aren't you?"  
  
"No. It's just that some things are not to be discussed between father and son and the sexual habits of you and Mama is one of them. Where's Tatijana?"  
  
"She'd better hurry up. I don't want to keep our hostess waiting."  
  
"No, indeed. Wouldn't want her to think you have no manners, would we?"  
  
"Are you going to keep this up all night, this pissiness? Because if you are you can stay here and eat overcooked steak. What's the matter with you? I told you it was allright. We talked, walked, saw a film."  
  
"A what?"  
  
" 'Washington Square'. Olivia de Havilland was a very handsome woman, don't you think?" Ivica's scotch arrived before Damir had chance to respond to this and Tatijana arrived a moment later.  
  
"So - how did it go?"  
  
"Ask the lawyer over there. He's already interrogated me, and I'd rather skip the cross examination if it's all the same to you." Tatijana raised her eyebrows inquisitorially at her husband who didn't answer. "Oh, now he has nothing to say. Well - exhibit A - invitation to dine with Miss Lockhart tonight."  
  
"Tonight?" Tatijana looked a little alarmed.  
  
"Yes. 8 O'clock - so finish off your gin. Is that a new blouse?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And earrings?"  
  
"Yes. You like them?"  
  
"Very nice. They look expensive. Couldn't be what's given that bear over there a sore head I suppose. Can we get flowers anywhere at this time of night? Damir, go and ask at the desk."  
  
"I - "  
  
"Something not too fussy. Well, go on, boy, we haven't got all night."  
  
Tatijana waited until her husband was out of earshot before saying "It was OK? I mean really?"  
  
"Yes. You think I don't know how to behave. I do. I did."  
  
"So you didn't ..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Argue?"  
  
"Of course we argued. But it's all right. She knows I'm a stupid old man who can't keep his mouth shut, I know she's scared to death, but we got along splendidly in the end."  
  
"No flowers; you left it too late to order them." Damir struggled to keep the satisfaction from his voice.  
  
"Well then order some for tomorrow. They'll have to go to the hospital, she's working."  
  
"Anything else?" Damir asked, testily.  
  
"Jesus, stop bellyaching, I'll do it myself." Ivica made his way to the desk and Tatijana smiled at her husband.  
  
"You noticed the tie, I suppose."  
  
"No - what about it?"  
  
"He's wearing it. Without being told. I think he wants to make a good impression."  
  
"Well, that's a first. Better late than never."  
  
"Damir!" Ivica's voice carried from the desk and Damir closed his eyes, wincing. "You have your credit card on you?"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Tell me about the dog."  
  
"What dog?"  
  
"You know what dog." Abby nestled closer to him and pulled the comforter around them more tightly. He was silent for what felt like a long time and then said "In Vukovar ... when the building was hit, there was a dog, just an old brown dog, dead, lying across the doorway. I had to step over it - him - to get into the place."  
  
"And?"  
  
"I cried about it. After I'd stopped crying for Danijela and the children, I'd find myself thinking about that dog and I'd cry." He waited a long moment before continuing. "It started showing up in my dreams. When we were together ... before ... I'd dream I was at your door, wanting very much to get in and the dog was there. I couldn't get past him. I mean I would, but then I'd still be at your door and he'd still be lying in my way."  
  
"Maybe you have to tell him to go."  
  
"He's dead. He can't move."  
  
"He's a stray. You know strays - you have to stop feeding them. They go eventually."  
  
"Is that what I do? Feed him?"  
  
"I guess."  
  
"But then who else will feed him?"  
  
"Like you said - he's dead." She wriggled onto her stomach and looked down at him. "I mean, I love you you know, but I can't have your dead dogs lying around the place."  
  
He smiled a little then. "I never said I was tidy."  
  
"No, you're not; like I can talk."  
  
Luka reached a hand upwards and ran his fingers across her mouth. "I love you."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I don't even like dogs much."  
  
"Me neither." The hand which had been resting on her face slid around the back of her head and he pulled her into a kiss which grew more heated as it continued. With some effort she broke away from him.  
  
"We don't have time for this now."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You have to shower, and make yourself beautiful, as do I, because we will be having company to dinner in - " and here she glanced at the bedside clock " - half an hour."  
  
"Company?"  
  
"The clan Kovac. Well, the three of them currently available."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He stopped there, took in the raised eyebrows and half smile. "Ah."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"What are you cooking, is there anything I can do to help?"  
  
"I'm not cooking."  
  
"So we're eating what?"  
  
A beat. "Pizza."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Leave them, they'll keep 'til tomorrow."  
  
"You're working tomorrow."  
  
"Eleven O'clock, there'll be plenty of time."  
  
"I'm on at eight."  
  
"Doesn't matter, I think I can cope." She took the coffee cup from him and wound her arms around his waist. "You know, you really, really pissed me off." He looked down at her, startled and alarmed, but then caught her smile.  
  
"Oh - more amends?"  
  
"Oh, yes, I think so. You haven't even begun to work this one off."  
  
"You're very hard, you know."  
  
"I think that's my line, isn't it?"  
  
"I guess you're not being my mother now, huh?"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The hall stretched endlessly in either direction as he faced her door. Looking down he knew what he would see. Stooping slightly he was surprised to see that there was no blood around the muzzle of the dog.  
  
"Hey. Hey, dog. You have to go." The eyes opened and regarded him steadily, clear, knowing. "You have to leave. There's no room for you here." The tail hit the floor with a dull thud once, twice, three times and the dog got to his feet, stretched and shook himself and then padded silently down the hall. He watched until it was out of sight and then turned to put his key in the lock. The door swung open and he stepped over the empty threshold. 


End file.
